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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27002794">(funeral) pyre</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/emavee/pseuds/emavee'>emavee</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Whumptober 2020 [14]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Booby Traps, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Fire, Gen, Hurt Dick Grayson, Left to die, Waterboarding, gasoline</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 00:55:04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,315</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27002794</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/emavee/pseuds/emavee</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“I wonder which one of them is gonna kill you?” he muses, tapping his chin. “Personally I hope it’s the Bat, but it would also be fun if it was one of the littler ones. Probably mess ‘em up real good to know they’re responsible for offing the great Nightwing.”</p>
<p>Whumptober Day 14: fire</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dick Grayson &amp; Bruce Wayne</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Whumptober 2020 [14]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1948276</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>221</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>(funeral) pyre</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>pls don't be bound to the science of anything here. i am a college students with multiple midterms this week and very little time to research. also comic book logic says i can do whatever i want so,,</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Dick blames this whole mess on his new neighbors. They're constantly loud, blasting music and yelling and partying until the early morning. And well, if he wasn’t going to be able to get any sleep anyways, Dick had decided Nightwing would just stay out on patrol longer. He'd figured he’d just sleep the day away but then he’d been called in to work a double he couldn’t say no to.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So yeah, the forty-eight hours without sleep clearly weren’t doing him any favors when the guys he’s been tracking for the past two weeks managed to get the drop on him. It was a stupid mistake, one he will not be making again. At least, once he gets out of here.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He woke up a few minutes ago, chained to a pillar in the middle of the warehouse, flat on his ass with his arms secured behind him. He tugs and tugs, but the chains around his wrists don’t budge, and the combination or his pre-existing exhaustion plus the little bump on his temple are making it difficult for him to think of ways out of this.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They’re illegal weapons dealers and Nightwing finally managed to track their main store to this warehouse. Except, when he blinks his eyes open they’re already half cleared out. Goons mill about, removing crates full of guns and illegal tech and barely sparing Nightwing a second glance. It’s not until they’re carrying out the last of the contraband that Nightwing finally gains the attention of the group’s leader.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s a burly guy, with a bald head and a seemingly-permanent smirk on his scarred face. He’s watching his men clear out, multiple cans of gasoline resting around his feet which is not exactly a great sign… </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eventually, he stalks closer to where Nightwing is still slumped against the pillar, and Dick can hear the gasoline sloshing around inside the jug. The stench is already acrid and thick, and he doesn’t want it anywhere near him. He kicks out when the guy gets close enough, making him spill a bit of the gas onto the floor, but the guy flicks his wrist and suddenly Dick is being held down by two additional sets of hands.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What the hell are you doing?” Dick growls. He writhes and struggles, but the hands don’t so much as budge. “Get your hands off of me!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The smell hits him first, then the feeling of liquid soaking through his suit to saturate his skin. It doesn’t hurt, just feels unpleasant to have wet spandex clinging to his limbs, but the longer he sits soaked in gasoline, the more likely he is to get some pretty wicked chemical burns.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What’s worse is breathing it in. He tries to take shallow breaths, hoping to keep from inhaling too many fumes, but he can’t escape the chemicals that he’s literally drenched in. It drips off of his hair, running down his neck and face, horribly unpleasant. God, he’s never wanted a shower more in his entire life, and he’s gone for multiple romps in Gotham’s sewer system.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He tilts his head back, trying to divert the gasoline from running into his eyes or mouth. His longer hair is not helping the situation, strands now plastered to his forehead and cheeks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s the sound of splashing liquid against the hard floor as the rest of the dealers spread the remainder of the gasoline throughout the warehouse. Really, really not good.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What—” Dick is forced to cough when the fumes invade his throat, choking him for a moment. “What are you—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Clearing out,” the leader says casually. “And getting rid of a pest while we’re at it. No reason I can’t have a little fun though.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fun?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He grins down at him, wicked and sharp, before dropping into a crouch in front of Nightwing. A hand pats his head condescendingly and Dick jolts away, banging his head lightly on the pillar. The leader laughs, wiping the gasoline from Dick’s hair onto his pants.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I mean, we don’t exactly want to be here when the place goes up in flames, so we’re gonna let someone else do it for us.” He points to the door on the far side of the warehouse. “Soon as someone comes in to rescue you, they’ll set off the little device I set up, and the whole place goes up in flames, you with it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Shit.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Dick can’t reach his distress beacon at the moment, but as far as he knows his trackers haven’t been disabled. And if he hasn’t moved for too long or if he’s missed a check in, Oracle will get an alert, and she’ll send someone to check on his sorry ass. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Whoever comes for him will be walking straight into a trap.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What if no one comes for him?” one of the goons asks. “He could get out eventually. Run his big mouth.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The leader nods, rising to his feet. “You’re right. We can’t have that.” He shrugs off his jacket and picks up the remaining gasoline—and how is there even any left?— pouring out gasoline to saturate the fabric as he approaches.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dick glares up at him when he comes to a stop, grinning wickedly down at him. “What are you—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Suddenly his head is being tipped back, gasoline-soaked jacket pressed over the lower half of his face. The world goes dark, the scent overwhelming, and suddenly he can’t breathe. He tries desperately to hold his breath, but a boot collides heavily with his gut, making him gasp reflexively, and then he’s choking on gasoline. Dick has been waterboarded before, but never like this. Never with anything other than water. The chemicals </span>
  <em>
    <span>burn,</span>
  </em>
  <span> taste and smell overwhelming and horrible. It goes down his throat and up his nose, smothering him from the inside out as he splutters and struggles.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It can’t last long—there wasn’t actually much gasoline left after they doused the whole warehouse—but it feels like forever before the fabric is being pulled away. Dick gasps desperately for air, wishing more than anything that he could escape the foul chemical scent. His throat and nose burn like acid.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s more than enough to do some pretty serious damage. Even if no one comes for him and sets off the trap, he’ll most likely die from gasoline poisoning. His only two options now are a fiery death or a slow poisoning until his body gives out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There we go,” the leader crows, laughing at Dick’s coughing and ragged breathing. “No way out now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck. You,” Dick gasps out once he manages to catch his breath just enough to somewhat speak. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I wonder which one of them is gonna kill you?” he muses, tapping his chin. “Personally I hope it’s the Bat, but it would also be fun if it was one of the littler ones. Probably mess ‘em up real good to know they’re responsible for offing the great Nightwing.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dick suppresses a shudder at the idea. The last thing he wants is for anyone in his family to have to shoulder that type of guilt, and he knows them. He knows they will. No matter what happens, someone will blame themselves. They shouldn’t, but they will.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He glares at their backs as the dealers leave, wishing he didn’t feel so utterly helpless and trying to ignore the burning in his throat. They don’t even bother turning around to spare him a second glance before the door slides shut, leaving him in near-complete darkness.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dick has learned a lot over the years about various types of poisons, but he doesn’t know the symptoms of gasoline poisoning off the top of his head. He never really thought it would come up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He can guess now, though: dizziness, fatigue, abdominal pain, blurry vision—just to name a few. He’s also going to go ahead and blame the horrible burning in his throat and the ache in his chest on the gasoline as well. The worst, though, is most likely yet to come. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s nearly impossible just trying to keep his eyes open. Drowsiness tugs on all of his limbs and settles in his head like a fog. It’s all he can do to jolt himself awake every time he feels himself fading, and with how sick and crappy he’s feeling, it’s even more tempting to just let himself slip away. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Even if someone comes in time, he’s still going to die, and more than anything, he really, really doesn’t want to burn.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But he can’t bring himself to just give up either. It’s just not in him. Bruce would be so disappointed in him if he just gave in. He’s been trained better than that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sits and waits and has no idea what he’s even waiting for. For some sort of rescue? For the gasoline to finally get to him? He doesn’t really have any idea what he’s holding on for, just knows that he has to. So he sits, watching the door, and simultaneously hoping to see a familiar face and absolutely dreading the very same thing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He drifts slightly, not fully giving into unconsciousness but definitely not completely aware of his surroundings or the passage of time, until a faint noise has him on full alert. Well, half alert. As alert as he really can be.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s someone outside the door. Quiet, but Dick has been trained to pick up on even the smallest sounds, and he knows a Bat when he hears one.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stop,” he gasps. He has to warn them. They could get hurt. They could send the whole warehouse up in flames. “Trap.” But there’s no way they can hear him. Breathing hurts, and speaking is too difficult. He can’t muster up enough energy or air to really shout.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn’t even time to register the sound of the door opening before a wave of pure heat washes over him, lighting blinding him, sending him reeling back with nowhere to go. The fire somehow hasn’t reached him yet, but surely it will soon. The thought terrifies him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nightwing!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He pries his eyes open at the sound of his name and immediately wishes he hadn’t. The whole front of the warehouse is alight, empty crates melting and twisting in the heat. The fire doesn’t reach him. It rages all around him, but it doesn’t reach him, at least not yet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Someone has come to rescue him, but they won’t be able to get him out. There’s no way out that’s not scorching, agonizing heat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nightwing!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s the voice again, this time accompanied by a figure rushing through the flames. Batman. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Bruce.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Go,” Dick rasps. “Get out.” Bruce will try to save him, he knows it, and it’ll just make it so much worse when he can’t.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bruce curses under his breath as he crouches down in front of Dick, the full picture of how utterly fucked Dick is falling into place.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nightwing,” he says, short and clipped. All business.  “Are you injured?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No. But I’m gasoline-y,” Dick mumbles, shaking his head and watching droplets of the liquid slide out of his hair as if to prove his point.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know,” Bruce says, nose wrinkling. Clearly the scent is nearly as strong for him as it is for Dick, even if Dick thinks he must be used to it by now. It’s not as if it can burn his nose any more. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You gotta leave. Can’t save me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, I can,” he snaps, gruff and stubborn on the surface and scared and worried underneath. “I can.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dick doesn’t know if the fumes and the heat and the panic are making him bonkers, but he’s pretty sure he’s watching Bruce pull off his cowl. But that can’t be right.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“B, what are you doing—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bruce hushes him, settling the cowl on Dick’s own head. “You’re going to be fine, but you’re still a little too flammable right now for my taste, chum. This should protect you a bit.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s a clang as the cuffs fall away and Dick’s wrists are freed. He pulls them around to his chest, rubbing at the raw skin. Bruce interrupts his sluggish stretching by cocooning his cape around Dick. “B, you have to get out of here—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The cape is fireproof,” Bruce reminds him as he wraps it tighter around Dick’s shoulders. “I won’t let anything happen to you, I promise. I’ll get you out of here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What ‘bout you?” Even with his vision blurring and sliding repeatedly out of focus, he can see the flames raging over Bruce’s shoulder. The cape cowl won’t be enough to protect him from that, and now Bruce is even more exposed. The heat grows and grows, prickling at his skin, and he feels like he might just spontaneously catch on fire at any moment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh. Okay.” That doesn’t seem quite right, but he lets it slide. Bruce is Batman. He’ll probably figure it out. He wouldn't lie to Dick. “Um, B?” Each word feels like it’s flaying his throat apart, everything hurts so bad.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah?” Bruce scoops him up with ease, and normally Dick would protest that he is perfectly capable of walking on his own, but he’s so tired and has absolutely no strength to do anything other than let his head fall on his dad’s shoulder.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Think I need t’go to the doctor.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bruce grimaces and his grip on Dick tightens. “I know, chum. We’re going. Just hold on, alright?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Kay.” Dick closes his eyes against the spinning behind his eyes. The glow is still there, red and bright even through his closed eyelids, but the heat feels more distant and he does his best to ignore it, concentrating on not vomiting all over the Batman armor until the thick feeling of drowsiness pulls him in, down and finally away from the pain and the fire.</span>
</p>
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